In Memory of Me
by Kal Lenin
Summary: Goodbye Blackwargreymon. Or maybe not, my dear digimon... A look into the inner depths of my being and my essence.


6 – 10 – 01

In Memory of Me

Even at night I still dreamt of him.There he was, watching over me.There he was, reaching into me, and touching the inner depths of my heart—we had a word for it.Or, rather, we had a ****** for it.It wasn't something you could say or even explain.The best way to say it…no express it…was just ******.Do you know what I mean?Anyway, he would reach into my heart, and we would touch.For that moment, I would feel something.It was like a reaction, a fusion, of spirits.It's hard to even talk about it—so many emotions and feelings—you really had to experience it.

But he was still there in my dreams, in my visions, in my idle thoughts.No, he was in all of my thoughts.And how to remove him from my memory?No, impossible—he was infused in me.Whether insight or insanity I know not, but I still feel him, a shadow of nothingness, a lingering will o' the wisp that becomes harder to find the closer you look.Deep within my essence, and deep within my being, and just _in me, I guess, I still feel him.But he was always there._

Blackwargreymon.

I suppose that one could say that I have a partiality to him.I mean, he is in my very being.But…but just…I don't know.(thinking for a bit)But just seeing, and feeling him…it's…it's like a connection of sorts to the digital world.I write this, shall we say, posthumously?No…not quite.But certainly _ex post facto of His death.He was alive to me until I saw his noble sacrifice, indeed.*SIGH*It left me in some shock, I must say, but what am I to do, to say what goes on in that world?_

I felt him.I know its real.It's a feeling, and I have learned to trust my feelings, or rather, to feel trust.I can see him without him being there.Just now, lying pensive on my bed over his death, he whispered to me."Albert," he said, in a distant whisper."You believed in me."I'm still not quite sure what that means, but I get a good vibe from it.Well, having just seen the close of season two—which I taped a while back—inspired my insanity—I attempted to transport myself to the digital world.

Here on I do not lie (not to imply that I have been lying, for I haven't).I could feel something, the feeling of physical presence.The twitch of a finger—my finger—on the other side of the barrier between the worlds.I could see their shadows around me—Exveemon to one side, and I think it was Aquilamon on another; there were others, but I can't recall them all.They were flying with me in the darkness.We just flew and flew with speed and grace.I think there might have been a light, but I still could see nothing but shadows.Flashes of dreams pieced together—dreams of the past.I guess I've always fantasized that I've lived in some dream world not quite like the Matrix, from which I would someday awaken.I still wait.

But him, his presence, his everpresence.It's still there.I feel him forever.Ever since I first spotted him I knew it was him that was for me, or me for him.It doesn't matter—it's the same thing.But ever since I first spotted him on the episode _after his creation (I missed the episode of his creation), I knew he was mine.My digimon.He was looking for me.And I was looking for him.As he destroyed in both worlds on that T.V. screen I wanted to get up and shout, "I'm here!Here!Blackwargreymon!I'm here!"_

I know that if I did, he might turn for an instant, and look off into the distance, like some strange voice was calling him, but then shake his head and move on.I know him.He knows me.Even now, I still imagine him—can feel him—like he's behind me.Ever time I turn, though, he is still behind me.I content myself with talking to him in our special language—a mix of English and emotion—in my head, as I do my work, or drive, or sleep at night.I know he's there.

But I guess he isn't quite miffed at the presence of Flamedramon or Silverbolt.They were there first.Silverbolt was first, and his Maximal buddies have had occasional cameos, but it was mostly just Silverbolt.Somehow, though, Flamedramon got into the scene.He was inside and out me, like Silverbolt.Both of them, in fact, have been in and out of me.I was them at times, but not quite in the same way with Blackwargreymon.He was different.He was really me.  
He was there in those dark times, but I never talked to him then.In those times of my emotional grief, Silverbolt would put a hand on my shoulder, and I could feel the cold warmth of Cybertronian alloy, its weight and presence somewhat soft and fuzzy on my skin and clothes.Flamedramon would stand a few meters away, looking down and off to the side, but somehow at me, and through me.But I never even noticed Him then, Blackwargreymon.And when I did, it would just pass over like that.

But he was always there.Always in me and about me and around me.It seems that I would always approach him before he would approach me or do anything.I can't remember any case where he really approached me.Wargreymon did that once, I think, but I'm not sure I remember rightly.Blackwargreymon was different.I was him.He was me.

But…I…I guess there's a little more.I don't know.I really don't.This stuff is kinda hazy.I think there's a little something more with him.Or rather, with me.We are the same right?Heh.Okay.Breathe.(I shake my head vigorously)Okay, okay.Enough.Back to it.Focus.

But I think there's a little more.No, no, I can't be so insecure.Not like the illusions of Malomyotismon.I have to be sure of myself.I know there's something more.He is me.He really is.Or I'm him.I've never tried it, but I think that if I looked into the mirror, there would be another reflection besides my own.In another time, I would've said that he was behind me in that reflection, but now, I can see that he is me.His image is the only reflection in the mirror.His blackness—sometimes confused for Wargreymon's orangeness—is what I see.I am him.

I never really died.I suppose it's kind of foolish to think so.It's just so hard to get used to this form—so many feelings and so many strange sensations.The one thing I'll never get over is the physical weakness, but I suppose I will get used to it eventually.But things are great.I've had some dreams, or notions, or notions of dreams, of a voice—the silent kind that doesn't quite speak, yet says stuff nonetheless—that tells me that I have earned it.That's all.That I've earned it and deserve it.Even now at night I dream of the old times—the warrior times—the regimental and strict soldier ways, the precise drilling, the camaraderie of battle, all the glory and honor stuff.I've even tried hard to return to that world, but now (and I mean now, this instant, as I write) I realize that I live in this great world now, this human world full of dreams and possibilities.I can be anything.I am anything.I am my dreams.


End file.
